


haejangguk

by dashirun



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, cw: recreational drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashirun/pseuds/dashirun
Summary: in which boys are useless and Dongyoung's soup rights all wrongs // a.k.a. what is domesticity without a little trouble from Mark Lee to shake things up once in a while
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	haejangguk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [batman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batman/gifts).



> #nowplaying: boys ain't shit by saygrace

Dongyoung is a hurricane barely contained. Yoonoh knows this, sees the way the storm slips through the tiniest cracks. All it takes is a rapping at the walls and the full force of him comes raging out.

Today, it’s Mark that calls the storm forth.

Well, more accurately, it’s Jongin who starts it all. But Mark’s the one standing in their kitchen with his hands in the pockets of yesterday’s sweatshirt and this dejected frown on his face at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and so he’s the one bearing the brute force of Dongyoung’s anger.

Dongyoung had taken one look at him teetering back and forth in their doorway and had stepped aside to let him in. Yoonoh had hopped out of bed at the sound of Dongyoung’s concerned crooning in the hall. Within minutes, Mark was standing with his hands spread on their kitchen counter (Yoonoh had known something must have gone terribly wrong for Dongyoung to stand by and watch their brand new marble countertop get smudged up with palm sweat) and Dongyoung was setting a pot full of bone broth on the stove to heat. 

Now Dongyoung’s hands move with a frightening ferocity across the cutting board. Beside him, Yoonoh dodges stray bits and bobs of radishes that fly into the air in erratic arcs. 

“I won’t stand for this,” Dongyoung mutters and Yoonoh moves to rub soothing circles into his tensed shoulders. Dongyoung’s muscles feel stiff under Yoonoh’s hands and his voice comes out biting when he speaks. He pauses his chopping and brandishes his knife at his next words. “I won’t stand for it.”

Mark hovers across from them, hands behind his back now and his waist pressed into the island like it’s an anchor. “Hyung, it’s not a big deal,” he mutters, but even Yoonoh can hear the rough pull of tears in his throat.

Dongyoung slams his chef’s knife down with alarming force and Yoonoh’s hands start kneading faster. “To hell with that!” He pauses to wave Yoonoh off. His hands come to a standstill and Dongyoung’s reaches back to gently squeeze the tips of Yoonoh’s fingers, brief and barely resonating. “Boys are useless,” Dongyoung finishes. “They’re useless. What do we always tell you, Mark, don’t waste your time on these little miscreants. Yoonoh, don’t we always tell him?”

“Dongyoung,” Yoonoh whines, and Dongyoung’s eyes narrow in response. Across the counter, Mark is waiting with his head bowed and his shoulders pinched in tight like they’re the only thing holding him together. “Listen, let’s all talk about this later.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Yoonoh insists. Dongyoung is a storm front, sudden and unforgiving when he hears the call to battle, but Yoonoh is the shoreline that swallows his anger whole. “He needs rest. Mark, sit down, I’ll bring you some water.”

The movement is immediate. Mark’s eyes squeeze into a thankful smile as he strides over to collapse face-first on Yoonoh’s couch. Dongyoung hisses when Mark’s face thuds into the seat, but Yoonoh only turns his back to the boy. He’s snoring before anyone can even grab a glass.

The broth comes to a boil behind them and Dongyoung tries to simmer at a whisper. “I’ll tear Jongin limb from limb next time I see him.”

There’s a curl of dark hair swinging in front of Dongyoung’s eyes as he stews. Yoonoh purses his lips as he watches it sway. He moves the lock away, lets his fingers rest against Dongyoung’s temple. “I know babe,” he frowns. “But it’s not gonna do any good to rant about it to Mark right now.”

“I am not!” Dongyoung protests. Yoonoh chews on his lip, tries not to grin at the red flush traveling up Dongyoung’s neck. “Okay maybe I was, but what do you want me to do? He keeps going out to get his heart broken and showing up here still drunk and near tears. And it’s always with these same guys that don’t even text him back the next day. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” Yoonoh hums, pulling Dongyoung into a loose hug. Mark’s breathing sounds like a distant roaring thunderstorm as he settles into an exhausted sleep. “I don’t want to see him like this either. And we can talk to him about it and give him all the advice we want when he sobers up. But if we actually want him to understand, we have to let him make his own mistakes.”

“And what are we supposed to do when he keeps making those mistakes?”

“Open the door,” Yoonoh suggests. “Always open the door. Make him some food. Give him a blanket.” 

Dongyoung settles into the hug, frowning into Yoonoh’s shoulder. Yoonoh pats his head and Dongyoung arches into the touch, lips turning up into a smile against the skin of Yoonoh’s bare shoulder. Then, the scent of the broth floats over to them and Yoonoh’s brows pinch together as if noticing the pot on the stove for the first time. 

“Are you making hangover soup?” Yoonoh asks and Dongyoung nods into the crook of his neck. “But we’re out of meat.” He regrets the words as they leave his mouth.

Dongyoung pulls away and Yoonoh tries to keep a neutral expression. 

“Then he’ll have radish soup and he’ll fucking enjoy it,” Dongyoung finally manages. Yoonoh lets out the breath he had trapped in his throat. 

Later, when Mark is tucked in on their pull out couch with a belly full of soup, Yoonoh and Dongyoung huddle at their island, each with a cup of tea. Dongyoung blows at the steam billowing off of the green surface. Yoonoh takes shallow sips of the too-hot liquid despite Dongyoung’s quiet protests. When Dongyoung’s hands find his cheeks, a chiding warning falling from his lips, Yoonoh smiles into his palm. 

They sit quietly as the sun comes all the way up, bouncing off the white tile of their apartment. Yoonoh looks at Mark flinching away from the light on the couch, thinks of how often they wake to find him crashed there. Or else, they emerge from their room, bleary eyed and underdressed, to find Taeyong And Yuta spread out on their living room floor arguing over their favorite French pastries (when Dongyoung and Yoonoh turn, there’s a bag of them waiting on their counter). Thursday nights bring Jungwoo barreling into Dongyoung’s arms, jabbering away about how he missed their family game nights. Yukhei lingers behind, still on a video call with Sicheng, asking after Ten over the sounds of Xiaojun and Yang Yang play-fighting in their practice room. It goes on and on, a new boy finding their way into their small studio apartment like somehow they’d started up a collection without meaning to.

Sometimes Dongyoung looks at their friends (most often when Chenle and Renjun appear at midnight still mid-fight and looking for his sage advice) and mumbles to Yoonoh that they’re never having kids. And then the smile breaks through his stern expression and the laughter bursts through them both and Yoonoh feels Dongyoung’s hand curling around his own as they watch the mess unfold before them.

**Author's Note:**

> a little drabble requested by the marvelous batman
> 
> you can find me on [@dashirunning](http://twitter.com/dashirunning) for fic updates


End file.
